jar: (joe&billy (hcl))
[personal profile] jar
me: there is a tumblr called "billiam's cum world" and I have no idea why but that amuses me deeply. I am imagining at top hatted gent welcoming a family into BILLIAM'S MAGICAL WORLD OF CUM and them walking through a doorway and getting a bucket of white goo thrown on them
del: billiam as in billy tallent?
me: ahah no, but now that you've said it: yes. joe mans the cum bucket to throw on people.
del: oh god it probably has pee and spit in it too
me: so much spit. in fact I think "cum world" is false advertising, it's just a back alley where they empty the spit bucket from the show on fans afterward ahaha
me: "hey, asshole," billy shouts, and flicks his lighter on. it's dark in the alley and the cigarette's red glow becomes the only source of light.

"aw, fuck you--" the faux-hawked douchebag trails off with an awkward cow-low lowing when he recognises billy. joe recognises the douchebag from the front row, billy's side of the stage.

"nah, maybe next time. how much'd you pay for joe dick to spit on you?"

the douchebag freezes for a minute and then laughs, his friends pat him on the back and call out "ten bucks!" "twenty if it was you billy!", but douchebag shushes them.

"that'd priceless man, you can't put a price on punk rock."

but you can put a price on cocaine, joe thinks snidely, and nudges the bucket at his feet with his boot's toe, hidden in the darkness of the alley where he's leaning behind billy.

billy rolls his eyes. his back is to joe, but joe knows.

"let's say you could," billy says, his tone a mockery of sweetness, tart as unripe apples.

"twenty bucks then."

"well come on down little man, that's the magic number!" joe yells from the alley, it echoes. douchebag and his friends laugh, pulling out twenties. billy takes the cash, more than enough to buy a few more rounds and some blow and then steps out of the way. he throws his smoke down and disappears into the darkness. douchebag and friends follow tentatively.

joe hoists the spitbucket from the show up into his arms and waits until he can hear them breathing, half chuckling in the dark before he throws it. it's a western-themed night at the bar and they'd been handing out chewing tobacco, so the concoction is truly rank. but it does contain joe's spit, so it's not false advertising.

billy's already bolted, laughing, before the bucket his the ground. joe cackles too, and kicks the brick holding the fire-exit to the club open away after himself, bending double and wheezing with laughter as douchebag and friends pounds the door. someone retches. joe catches billy's eye, billy wink bright blue, and waves his handful of twenties. they both laugh harder.
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September 2013


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